Gilded Cages
by DenverDavid
Summary: Everyone needs a family, a team to belong to. How do you find yours? Robin the Boy Wonder finds his solution during a particularly rough mission...
I slowly swim up through the wavering, flowing darkness. Figuratively, of course. Whatever they had shot me with, it has a hell of a punch.

My spine, shoulder, hips… Everything hurts. Not the usual hurt from fighting or all night patrols. This is more like being stretched for hours, aside from the migraine from whatever witch's brew they shot me with.

They. Who am I up against this time? Think back, Robin. Use that brain. What's the last thing I remember?

That long coded message. Several hundred seemingly random groups of five letters. The computers in the Batcave couldn't make any sense out of it. I spent all night trying different systems. Nothing. The Alfred brought breakfast and advice.

Why is everyone always trying to give me advice? Am I really that helpless.

Considering the migraine and the fact that I can't move with my arms stretched out high above my head… No, not above, past. I'm flat on my back lying on… Rods? Long round strips of some kind, anyway. Something over my eyes. Blindfolded. Gagged, too, by the feel of it. The tape pulls but doesn't let go. Gorilla tape, probably. Not duct tape, anyway.

Alfred said… He said if I don't know what it means, perhaps where it's from or going might be useful. Yeah, that was it. He was right. It was useful - for whoever caught me!

Damn it, what's going on? I've never been caught this easily before. Am I getting sloppy or… Or is someone out to get me specifically. Me? Who goes after Robin? Nobody, that's who. Batman's the usual target. Sometimes even Nightwing. But Robin?

I knew where I got the message from and it was hours too late to stake it out to see who would come to pick it up, but maybe, just maybe, I could trace who put it there and when.

Something sharp poking me in the back. I try to shift slightly to relieve the pain.

"Feel that, little birdie?" A man's voice. Deep. Bass. Slight slur but no real accent. Unfamiliar. Who the hell is it? "That's the first of about thirty bamboo shoots. They grow quickly - right through your body. And your armored cape won't save you. It's draped to the side."

A cold feeling settles on my heart. I pull against the restraints holding my arms and legs.

"If you were Superboy you might - might! - be able to break free. You're not so you can't. Still, it'll be fun to watch, so squirm away."

I don't want to entertain him, whoever he is, but I can't just lay here and be killed by bamboo. I stop squirming. I can move my shoulders and hips a fraction of an inch but that's not helping, anyway.

I take a deep breath and put Batman's training into effect.

Step one: Where and by what am I restrained? I twitch each joint and limb, one at a time in order starting at his feet. Ankles (feels like a thick block of hard material). Below and above the knees. Below and above the hips. Waist. Below the diaphragm. Chest. Arms at the shoulder joints. Above and below the elbows. Wrists (lots of tension on those straps - am I in a medical rack?). Any others? Yes! Along the jaw keeping his head back and... Yes, one more across the eyes.

Shit.

Super tight straps everywhere except the block around my ankles. What can I reach?

I wriggle my toes. Nothing there. Figures. I wriggle my fingers. Damn! Nothing there, either.

I'm really stuck. At least for now.

"The sharp point under my back. Is it getting worse? This quickly?

"Well, Birdboy, I have other fish to fry." A large hand gently pats my pecs, almost companionably. "See you later. Maybe."

Heavy footsteps fading away to a distant wall to my… right, I think. A door grinds open, then closed. A heavy clank.

Silence.

Locked in. Figures. As if that's an issue, strapped down as I am.

If I can't move, I don't have physical options. At least, not right now. If physical isn't an option, work on psychological. Lesson thirty-two.

Who is this guy? That's the key. How did he trap me?

I knew the coded message's content; a long list of five-letter groups that neither I nor the computer could decipher so far. Bruce out of town on business. I didn't ask Batgirl or Nightwing. I wanted to solve this one myself, for once.

I knew exactly when, how, and where I found the message: Night patrol, taking a break on the roof of the Gotham State Building, the tallest building in the city. Nice view. Suddenly, the Bat signal lights up the sky.

So much for the break. I fire the grappling gun at a girder of a building under construction across the street and head for City Hall.

Halfway there - traveling above the city is faster and easier than dealing with traffic - the Bat signal goes out. I land lightly, silently, on top of the Pelican Arms. Did the spotlight break down? Was the call a fake? What the hell? The Bat signal had never gone out before we arrived.

Only one way to find out, I guess.

I sling a line to the rooftop across the way and resume my flight.

Two minutes later, I drop silently onto the roof of City Hall, not an easy thing to do when it's the tallest building for blocks. Have to use the miniature rocket boosters in my boots to gain the extra momentum. Too bad they wouldn't help me escape. Too bad, too, that the controls are on my utility belt, well out of reach.

No movement in the dark. I hit the switch for night vision. Nobody on the roof at all. This is fucking strange. Should I back off and call for help? Probably smart. It ain't gonna happen. Wherever it is, I can handle it.

Yeah, right.

Options? A: give up and move on. Nah. B: Go downstairs to Gordon's office and demand an explanation. Last resort. That leaves C: Snoop around and see what I can find. Now that's a plan I like.

First things first, though. Work smart, not hard. I touch a series of concealed controls on the back of my left glove and sweep my arm around. My night visor can see the scan even though the beam is invisible to the naked eye. If anyone's watching with night vision they'll know someone's here but there's little chance that someone will be nearby and watching this roof and using light-enhancing technology at this exact time. It's a risk but a small one.

I turn slowly in place raising and lowering my arm to cover every possible viewpoint. Then I shut off the beam. A lens slides down from my mask to cover my left eye. I turn slowly around again, looking through the lens for bright green spots indicating something to look at, something the scanner couldn't identify.

One by one, seven green spots light up. Seven is easy. I head for the chopper pad control tower. Working clockwise, number one is on the controller's station. I glance around the edge of the armored window. There on top of the radar console…

Really? God, how tacky. Someone put a cheap plastic Batman figure on the console. Gag me with a spoon. Where's the Robin figure? That's what I want to know. A Robin figure would have been classy.

Number two is at the base of the microwave mast. I don't see anything odd. I pull up a schematic of the mast.

Uh huh. There's an extra box with wires running up to the transceivers and down the the roof access. Probably alarmed; I would. I tap out a text and sent it to the Bat cave to be forwarded through an anonymous server to Gordon's office. Let the cops deal with it.

Number three is at the base of the Bat signal. Since the signal summoned me here, I figure this might really be it. I approach the spot light slowly, silently, cautiously using every possible bit of cover. Could someone be masking their heat from the night visor? Unlikely but possible. I'm taking no chances. I have to confirm it's safe using other means before I step out into the open and approach the Bat signal's housing.

Making sure I'm downwind I hold perfectly still breath silently in, out, in, out, in - and hold my breath extending my hearing. I'm not Superboy but if you make no noise you can usually hear other people breathing. I hold my breath for a full minute.

Nothing. Either there's nobody there or I just can't hear them.

I take a Batbomb from from the second right pouch on my utility belt, breath in, out, in out, hold my breath and with one tiny, quick flick of my thumb lob it to the far side of the rooftop. It hits the roof and pops.

No sounds of someone jerking, jumping, gasping, shifting. Either nobody's there or he's good. She's good. Whatever. I'm not genderist. I can either move in or give up.

Lesson sixteen: Never take unnecessary chances. I slip from shadow to shadow, circling the Bat signal one more time. Nothing and nobody. I wait five more heartbeats, then slowly approach, listening to, feeling the night.

A thin, nearly invisible trail of smoke leads to a recently crushed Dunhill cigarette butt. Someone was definitely just here. I do a back flip up and out of the line of fire to the top of the elevator housing. I crouch down behind the raised parapet and quickly look around. I'm alone on the elevator's roof. I look down.

A perfectly dry, perfectly white #10 envelope. Dry? After last nights rain? Fresh, then. Left or dropped here after… When did the rain end? A little after three this morning. Not from a cop or city employee. Not on top of the elevator housing.

An outsider. One who wanted to stay hidden. One who might still be around…

My left hand fires the grappling gun's hook to the top of the microwave mast. The reel quickly and silently retracts the monofilament line. I stuff the envelope into a concealed pouch behind my utility belt as I soar almost straight up into the night.

I need a fast, safe place to search the envelope nearby. Nearby in case it's a dead end and I have to complete the search. But where?

The door on the far wall grinds open. Several steps grow louder and something (someone?) is being dragged. Not good news.

"This one goes in the bubble." the bass voice orders. "Quickly now. We'll have other visitors before long."

The footfalls and dragging noise drift off past my feet. The dragging stops and the footsteps become uneven, nonrhythmic. Cloth being tugged and pushed over a smooth surface. An harmonic clang and hiss. "Done? Good. Back to stations, then."

"When do we get a break?" a tenor with a very clipped accent asks.

"I I said no talking in here!" the bass voice shouts. "You'll get a break when I say so. Remember who's paying you! Out!"

Most of the footsteps leave, I hold my breath. One person still breathing in here. A female groan echoes faintly from the direction of the 'Bubble.'

"You're awake, Batgirl. Good."

Batgirl? Shit. There goes my call for backup.

"If you're looking for your utility belt, it's over here. I took the precaution of removing it so you can't escape."

"What are you doing to Robin?" Batgirl's voice echoes slightly.

"He's being impaled slowly on live bamboo. I read about this method of execution and I always wanted to try it. The bubble you're in consumes oxygen, shrinking in the process. Since there's no air exchange, it'll grow smaller, thicker, stronger as you and it use up what little air you have in there. After that…"

He didn't need to finish the threat.

"Who are you?" Batgirl asks. "What are you after?"

"What am I after? Why you, Robin, Nightwing and Batman, of course. Each of you will die in your own special way. If things stay on schedule, you should all die about the same time, too, and watch each other die."

"Fiend!"

"Thank you. I appreciate the compliment. As for who I am…"

Footsteps echo towards the door.

"Where are you going?" Batgirl asks. The door grinds open, then grinds closed followed by the clank of the lock. "You okay, Robin?"

I sign YES in Batman's private sign language. I hope Batgirl can see my hands from where she is.

"Any idea what's going on?" Batgirl asks.

I sign NO NOT REALLY.

"Yeah, well, that's two of us. You don't look too comfortable."

I sign YOU THINK.

"Keep working on escape. We have to get out of here."

I sign YOU TOO.

I hook a safety line to the bracket holding the highest microwave transceiver and take the envelope out, opening it. Inside was the coded message:

cpvzt tqwup vrskg ukxrq eegkb

vvejw rdpzb tkoaa dviud nkrrq

dgfjk dpxo scixu hvtlp rfirp

ygvgk mvxkm evggu njplw tgmnw

tgiul unstn evmgd rkikb

swpym puxkv ovigp wmfcq

iisut ohvke luiui dhpqe akioq

lrixk swiqw rsmkb oimec hqium

rpcak evzze leyzv oteux ipder

psjhy viayb mrsph blnfr phtya

pvydj ykkvl fxwkq upnuc bsfhx

uvjdu jlnlq mhdbw lrrpq ogsax

jnjhc qkuar bwmlm qenom

uvrur skxkn mpthc ivhuo

iqlzo uhjaw okqpx frmze hgtkx

jjtvv frtan tkkyc jjmzn twdlx

urftw fkhun iqtar blnfx jbsfd

ohwhr sqjsp fuaux jqdbj pjfbj

It runs to six stanzas, all identical in pattern but with different letter groups. No message comes out that even. Obviously at least some letters had been added to make it come out event neat and tidy.

The odd pattern must be the clue as to how to decode it. I sent in a micro drone to examine the last four green spots. Nothing worth mentioning, so I slung home the the Batcave as quickly as I could and fed the message into the computer's analyzer.

In the next six hours the computer ran every decryption sequence for every code used back to the Spanish American War. Nothing. It ran an analysis of letter frequency, Garbage. Then Alfred came in with breakfast and his advice.

I wolfed down the food, shot the message to Oracle with a request to pass it to Batgirl or Nightwing, whoever was closer, and returned to the top of City Hall as fast as my grappling guns would take me.

I arrived at the last perch before arriving on the elevator housing on top of City Hall a the stars started fading uno the predawn grey. One quick scan on infrared to make sure nobody was there - not that I expected company - and I snapped the night visor away into my mask. In the growing light they've already become useless.

The pain in my back has grown uncomfortably sharp and spread to several points. I call on mind control training to ignore it and continue to occasionally try to yank my way loose. The door grinds open and footsteps approach.

"Look who's back," Batgirl snaps pettily.

"Of course," the bass voice replies conversationally. "Birdboy's at the point, so to speak, where he'll start making fun screams." A hand savagely tears the gag off my mouth. I flex my jaws as the blade of a knife slides under the blindfold, cutting it away.

My first attempt to speak produces only a rasp. Several tries later I can finally utter recognizable words. My eyes are still adjusting to the sudden light after it's long absence; everything's still blurry.

"Do you know the kind of pain you're in for?" I ask.

"Oddly enough, I was going to ask you the same question, Birdboy. Here's a sample." A fist pounds savagely on my sternum. The painful points in my back multiply a thousand times in response. I gasp as the air is driven forcefully from my lungs. Colors spin and waver in front of my eyes.

"Stop it!" Batgirl screams. "He's only a boy.

"No, he's bait. Highly successful bait. He lured you in, didn't he?"

The colors and fuzziness clear. I look Bass Voice up and down as well as I can without being able to move. He's six nothing, thinning, receding dirty blond hair, faded blue out of focus eyes, with acne scars not only all over his face but over every bit of exposed skin and bumps suggesting scars under his clothes as well.

"Who the hell are you, pizza face?" I ask, as politely as I can under the circumstances. Batgirl nearly manages to avoid snickering.

"Thanatos." the bass voice responds.

"Thanatos, huh?" I ask.

"For the four of you, yes. The personification of death." Thanatos turns and heads for the room's only exit. As he passes the middle of the room, the air shimmers momentarily behind him. While I'm trying to decide if the shimmer was real, Thanatos slides the massive door open, leaves, slides it closed behind himself and locks it from the outside.

Not being able to move my head, I can't get a glimpse of Batgirl. "You okay, Batgirl?" I ask.

"As well as can be expected under the circumstances," she replies. "Are you? You're bleeding."

"Much?" I ask.

"Not yet," she temporizes.

"Any idea what's in store for Nightwing and Batman?" I ask.

"There are heavy chains and hooks in one corner and a section of pink floor in another. Whatever the plan is, I doubt we'll like it."

"Getting you out is the first priority," I say. "You have to have air."

"You're bleeding," Batgirl counters.

"You die faster from lack of air," I rebut, "than from bleeding. Do you see anything I can get to and use?"

"You have your utility belt if you can reach it," Batgirl observes. "Can you?"

"Not at the moment but I'll work on it."

"Do that. I'm going to rest and conserve air."

"Right." I start squirming, yanking, twisting my ankles and wrists. Maybe I can work up a sweat and use it as lubrication. As they say in really old movies, it's a crazy idea but it just might work. Besides, there's nothing else I can even try.

Once on the elevator housing, I noticed something that couldn't be seen in darkness or by night visors: someone had painted a pattern on the tar in a slightly lighter grey: an irregular, swirling pattern of geometric shapes. I walk around the roof, viewing it from all angles, but it makes no sense to me. I take the lipstick camera from my utility belt and walk around the pattern, recording it from all angles, then hop onto the parapet and repeat the process.

I hop down again and engage the camera's uplink. Within seconds, the images are transferred to the Batcave's data storage. I flatten my left hand. My glove morphs into a miniature keyboard, 10-key and touchpad. I key in the computer analysis of the image.

One last look around. Nothing more to do here. Someone is laying a trail for my, obviously. The questions remain: who, where to, and why?

As I raise the grappling gun, a sharp pain engulfs my exposed arm. I look at it - a dart with feathers.

Shit.

The world spins and wavers. I fall into darkness and silence.

My wiggling and yanking haven't produced any results so I take a break. Faint sounds of a fight filter through the thick door and walls.

"Hear that, Batgirl?"

"Hear what?"

"A fight. Sounds like fun. Wish I could join in."

"Me, too. I can use a stretch."

"That bad?"

"It's getting a little cramped in here, yes, but, at least, I'm not bleeding all over the place."

The fight sounds suddenly quit.

"The noise stopped. That's either good news or bad news."

The door grinds open. Batgirl gasps. I strain to raise my head enough to see but there's no play in the straps.

"Back off a bit. Far enough. Watch him while I turn on the field." A short burst of tapping followed by a beep. "Right. Out, all of you."

"We wanna watch," sniveling a nasal male soprano.

"Then watch on the monitors," Thanatos orders. "Out!"

Several sets of foot steps clatter out the door which grinds closed behind them.

"I want you to enjoy this, Birdboy," Thanatos says eagerly. Footsteps approach and hands fumble with the straps holding my head. I crane my aching neck forward, new pain stabbing my back.

Batgirl's crouching in a thick glass bubble, panting.

Nightwing, blood dripping from a split lip and several cuts and stab wound, one eye already starting to puff up, is slowly picking himself up off the floor.

Thanatos a tall, vaguely thin figure in a hooded black floor-length robe, lean against the wall by a complicated computer station.

"Get him, Nightwing," I pant before the pain in my back and legs forces me the drop back on the rack. I lift my head again the watch.

Nightwing crouches, leaps - and bounces off a wall that isn't there.

Or isn't visible, anyway.

"And it gets even more interesting," Thanatos cackles. "Watch that pink section of the floor. It's very... viscid." Thanatos giggles like a schoolgirl at his pun.

"It's very what?" I ask, confused.

"Tacky question," Thanatos replies.

"Just watch." He hits a final control on the computer.

Nightwing, straining to move the invisible wall, is suddenly thrown backwards. His ankle hits a low ridge, flipping him head over heels. He flops, gracelessly, face down into the sticky pink ooze, flips once more, and comes to a rest face up and covered in pink ooze. He tries to stand but the ooze clings to him, trapping his arms and legs. He fights briefly but the only result is his arms and legs disappearing into the ooze altogether.

"It would take super-human strength to start getting yourself out of the pit. The pit is fifteen feet deep. You're going to sink slowly until... Well, until. You can figure the rest out for yourself.

"What do you want, Thanatos?" I ask.

"Isn't it obvious, Birdboy? I want the four of you out of the way."

"Why? What's in it for you?"

"Aside from the pleasure of watching you all die and watching each of you watch the others die?"

"Aside from that."

"Money, of course. Lots and lots of money. You four have made a lot of enemies and they're all willing to pay a fortune to me to even their scores."

A wave of dizziness washes over me and my head hits the rack with an audible thud. Audible to me, anyway.

"You won't get Batman as easily as you got us, Thanatos," Nightwing warns.

"I won't have to," Thanatos replies. Which two of you will Batbrain let die in a futile attempt to save the third?"

"Batgirl's in the most trouble," I say before I realize I shouldn't have responded at all.

"By now, she's dead," Thanatos comments. "There hasn't been air in her bubble for several minutes. Kaput. Finished."

"You'll pay for this, Thanatos," Nightwing answers.

"No, I'll be paid for this," he laughs, leaving the room.

I strain against the pain to lift my head. "You okay, Nightwing?" He's struggling against the sticky ooze, his arms and legs completely submerged. "You're sinking fast. Better not move."

"If we don't move we won't escape."

"If you do, you die," I counter.

"We're dead anyway. Just a matter of time. Might as well go out fighting." Nightwing keeps struggling and sinking. The ooze is up to his rib cage and closes over his neck before he stops. "You may be right, Robin. How are you doing?"

"I can move my head, fat lot of good it does. Batgirl's the one in trouble. We have to get her some air and room the breath."

"I'm open to suggestions as to how."

"Me, too." Batman says to assume any room is bugged, but I'm fresh out of ideas. Gotta take the risk. "You know what tools I have access to in my gloves and boots, don't you, Nigtwing."

"Pretty much."

"Any ideas?"

"Before I got tossed in here I got a good look at your rig. No locks which means either magnetic or electronic locks."

"Or internal mechanical."

"One chance in three. Good odds. Understand?"

If I completely short out the computer in my belt and its network transceiver and funnel he pulse through the keyboard... Well, it's something to try, anyway. "Gotcha. How?"

"What's the one thing you were told not to do, ever?"

"Huh?" I have to think about that one. Oh, yeah. I twist my finger in a really awkward, useless way. The wrist starts vibrating. I hold the hand still for five seconds.

Sparks fly from the back of the glove and the power pack on my utility belt. The strap holding that wrist relaxes. I pull my hand out, reach down, and grab the laser pistol. Using the last of my strength, it half twist half sit, aim the pistol between my legs, and fire at Batgirl's bubble.

A crack. And spider web. The bubble explodes in a puff of glitter. batgirl falls out, moaning softly.

"Batgirl! Get up!" Nightwing shouts.

I shout, "we need you, damn it!"

I continue to twist my back in spite of the stabbing pain to get my free hand over to the trapped one. I push a concealed button on the pistol and a small but laser-sharp blade extends from the grip. Reversing the gun, I start sawing through the strap hold my other hand.

"We don't have time for this, Batgirl!" Nightwing continues to shout. "Wake the hell up!"

"Who rang?" Batgirl asks weakly.

"Nightwing's about to drown," I shout. "Grab your utility belt and get him out of there!"

"Right." Batgirl stumbles to her feet just as the strap parts. I sit the rest of the way up, my back screaming and my head swimming but there's no time to rest. Nightwing's got seconds, not minutes. I grab my grappling gun aim a hair past where Nightwing's waist should be, and fire.

Batgirl's line bisects mine. I tie my line off to the rack, grab a Robinrang, and attack the block holding my ankle, slicing quickly through the rest of the straps on the way down.

"How do we get him out?" Batgirl asks.

"Here. Catch." I grab my wushu staff, expand it, and toss it at her. "Improvise. I'll be right there." I get back to work on the ankle block.

I don't make much progress until I realize there's a padlock on the side holding the block closed. I use the last few seconds of the laser gun's charge burning out the lock, toss the block open, and roll off the rack.

I try to stand up but my legs don't cooperate. Then I see how much blood covers the rack. No good but at least I'm still alive and kicking. Alive, anyway.

I crawl over to Batgirl, turn, and brace my feet on the ridge that tripped Nightwing. Nightwing's mouth is under the ooze and it's almost blocking his nose.

No wonder he's been so quiet.

"One of us has to dive in, Batgirl. The other has to pull both out. I don't think I can pull any time soon."

"Right." Batgirl braces her feet on the ridge. "You're sure about this?"

"Ask me in five minutes."

Batgirl hands me her spare climbing line and ties and free end of the one in use around my chest. I stand unsteadily.

"See ya." I jump into the ooze, landing almost perfectly on Nightwing's chest. His head completely disappears. I dig into the ooze and wrap my arms and legs around him. "Pull!"

"Out you two come."

The line goes taut and I feel a slow, agonizing pull backwards.

Nightwing's face reappears, covered in goo. I can't risk letting go to clear it...

What the hell. I rub his face with mine, moving most of the ooze to one side.

"Thanks," Nightwing pants.

"When you can, grab the line."

Slowly, Nightwing and I reverse positions until I'm on my back and Nightwing's on top of me.

"You did good' Robin," Nightwing says. "Stay here."

"I'm nothing anywhere," I agree.

Nightwing uses Batgirl's line to pull himself out of the ooze. The two of them make short work pulling me out.

Batgirl moves my cape to look at my back. "Yes, I know," Nightwing agrees without looking, "but first we have to get out and help Batman."

"Step one is to open the door, " I add. "There has to be an emergency lock release in case Thanatos gets locked in himself. Probably a computer command. That's how I'd rig it."

"We haven't time to hack the computer," Nightwing rebuts. "Got a spare Batbomb, Batgirl?"

"Right here." She hands Nightwing the tiny but powerful explosive. Nightwing eyes the shot, tenses, then fires his arm as fast as he can.

The dart hits the door at the edge halfway up from the floor and explodes with a deafening roar. Nightwing grabs the handle and tugs.

Nothing.

"Either the lock can't be blown that way or it's not there," I say.

"Good try, though," Batgirl adds. "Now what?"

I drag myself to my feet. "Now I try."

"Think you can do better?" Nightwing asks.

"I can do different," I answer, going over to the computer station. "Instead of blowing the lock, let's try unlocking it."

"I'll search for a hidden exit," Batgirl says and starts going over the room in detail and moving everything away from the walls.

"Got a spare Batarang?" Nigtwing asks.

I hand him a Robinrang. "Same thing, more colorful."

"It'll do," Nightwing says, inserting the wing-shaped blade in the tiny gap between the jamb and the door. "If I can find the latch I can try again."

I don't answer, being busy figuring the workstation's unlock code. I push the dizziness from the loss of blood and pain in my back out of my mind so I can concentrate. Even so, I know I'm working slower than I normally do.

Batgirl rejoins us several silent moments later. "Two small air vents. Not even Robin can get through them. Need help, Nightwing?"

"I think I found the latch. Got another Batbomb?"

"Lots. Let's use the remote detonator this time."

Nightwing stops working. "Remote detonator?"

"Didn't you know?" I say. "They're even Bluetooth compatible if you know how to access them."

Nightwing gets back to work. "Magnetic or adhesive?"

"Both," Batgirl answers. "Where do you want it?"

A almost silent click sounds from the door. Batgirl closes in and places the Batbomb on the side of the door where the tip of my Robinrang should be. They both back off just as the workstation unlocks.

"Unlocked," I say.

Nightwing stops working and glances over at me. "The door?"

I continue working on the workstation. "The computer. Give me another minute and I'll have the door."

"Maybe have the door," Nightwing comments.

I shrug. "Have it your way. Do what you were going to do. If you don't get it, I will."

"Right," Nightwing agrees. "Hit it, Batgirl."

Batgirl taps a hidden control on her utility belt. The Batbomb explodes. The smoke quickly clears leaving a large, uneven scotch mark.

Nightwing walks over and tugs on the door.

Nothing.

"Done playing?" I ask.

"You unlock it, then," Nightwing answers.

"If you haven't shattered to lock, watch this." I type a last sequence and punch ENTER. A loud click form the door. "Try it now."

Nightwing tugs the door. It finally opens a crack. "Ready?" he asks.

"You're welcome," I deadpan, expanding my staff. "Hit it."

Batgirl just nods, one hand on her Batarangs.

In one smooth move, NIghtwing slides the door open.

Batman mummified in gorilla tape up to his shoulders, taped to a two-wheeled dolly.

Surrounded by armed thugs, some of which point their guns at us and the rest at Batman.

Backed by Thanatos, hands on hips, staying well back, grinning with delight.

For a heartbeat nothing moves.

Batgirl and Nightwings launch themselves at the thugs. I would but I'm not up to it and I know it. I pull out a Robinrang and quickly slice through the tape holding Batman to the dolly. Even that small action takes the last of my strength. I watch the fun as Batman, Nightwing and Batgirl knock thug's head together. God, I wish I could join the fun.

A muscular arm closes around my neck and throat. "I still have you, Birdboy," Thanatos chuckles.

I'm still holding the Robinrang. I drive it deep into Thanatos' ribs, then twist it for good measure. The arm cutting off my oxygen disappear as Thanatos grunts. I hook my spare grappling line to the Robinrang and trigger a hidden spring. The Robinrang expands into an X-shape, revealing twice the number of laser-sharpened edges, Unless you know how to reverse the process, you can't pull it out without shredding your intestines.

"You were saying?" I turn to face Thanatos.

"Damn it, boy! What did you do to me?"

"Just returning your favor," I say. "You and your men can surrender or I can start tugging on the line. What a sample?"

I don't wait for an answer; I give the line a slight tug. Thanatos falls to his knees, gasping.

"Want to try a yank," I ask, "or do you give up?"

"You wouldn't dare," Thanatos begs. I just stare at him. Slowly he raises his eye and sees my face. "Shit. Yes, you would."

"Yes, I would. In a heartbeat."

"I surrender."

"Call off your men. Now!"

Thanatos sets his jaw. I shrug and tighten my grip on the line.

"All right!" Thanatos yells. "We surrender!"

The four thugs still standing take a second to process the voice.

"We surrender!" Thanatos repeats. "Game over."

"Forget about the reset," I say as my knees waiver. Nightwing grabs my grappling line in one hand and me in the other arm a moment before I collapse.

I lie on my stomach in the 'hospital' section of the Batcave, a boringly beige open-roofed room any private hospital would drool over, I.V. tubes in my arm, my back heavily bandaged, the usual wires and beeping machines keeping me awake.

I never could sleep with noise - especially hospital noise.

Galen, Bruce's mechanic/inventor/paramedic/everything else, late 40's, long black hair slightly greying at the temples, slightly running to fat, in lilac scrubs, does a final check on the drip.

"Still dripping?" I ask.

"'So far, so good,' said the man as he fell past the 35th floor," Galen answers good-naturedly. "Need anything?"

"A good workout," I say, wishing it was possible.

"Three days if you cooperate. Two weeks if you don't."

I sigh. Figures. Galen sits on the bed next to me. "I know it's tough staying still. Especially when you're used to constant action. I wish I could just make it go away."

"I know. But I'm bored."

"How about a compromise?" Galen asks.

"What kind of compromise?"

"I'll approve any activity that doesn't move your back."

"Too much," I add.

"To much," Galen agrees, "but I get to approve it in advance. Agreed?"

I don't even have to think about it. "Agreed."

"Good. Got anything in mind? Video games?"

"I'd have to lie on my back."

"Want to bet?"

"Really?"

"Really. I can set it up so the screens on the floor and you're on the massage table above it." Galen nods. "It'll work and I'll be nearby if it gets a bit too much. Not that you'll complain, right?"

"Right." I laugh. "Thanks Galen. It helps."

"Some anyway. Let me grab your console and gear. Be right back."

Bruce, Dick, and Barbara come in as Galen leaves.

"You got guts, kid," Dick says, turning the single guest chair so Barbara can sit and see me at the same time.

"You did good," Barbara smiles at me.

"Thanks. We did good."

"You passed the test," Bruce comments.

"Test?" I ask.

"Bruce has to know if you're go for broke," Dick explains.

"And it has to be a real test," Barbara adds. "We've all been through it at some time."

"Now you're really a member of the team and the family.," Dick finishes.

"Welcome aboard," Bruce says, toweling my hair. "You've earned your uniform."

"That was a hell of a test," I say.

"But necessary if we have to trust you with our lives," Bruce agrees.

"My patient needs rest," Galen says pushing a cart piled with video game gear and a 50-inch flatscreen TV into the room. "Visiting hours are over for now."

"Rest?" Bruce asks eyeing the contents of the cart.

"You rest your way," I answer. "I'll rest mine."

Galen nods.

God, it's nice to have a family.


End file.
